


The Language Of Love

by afteriwake



Series: Where Speech Ends [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4220460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is running late for a date with Molly, leaving her and Mrs. Hudson to chat for a bit. When Sherlock cancels the date in the end she ends up having a good evening regardless, and it ends with a phone call from Sherlock that includes a rather pleasant surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language Of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horrorfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horrorfangirl/gifts).



> And surprise! I got an unexpected hour of internet access today so I figured why not post a story for you guys? Hopefully it will work out well enough, as I'm on Internet Explorer (::stabbity stab::) but I'm trying. Anyway, the song used in this fic is by Jessica Fichot and is called “Dream/Les Yeux ouverts.” I actually got the pleasure of getting to see her perform it live and it was brilliant, so if you haven't listened to the fanmix with this series ( the link is at the first story) I recommend you do so. It's a lovely song.

**How many languages can you speak?**

“You always seem to have a smile on your face these days,” Mrs. Hudson said as she poured tea for her and Molly. She and Sherlock had planned to go out for dinner and a trip to the cinema but it wasn't until Molly arrived at Baker Street to meet him that Sherlock told her he was going to be quite late. He suggested she visit with Mrs. Hudson for a bit while she waited for him to return with takeaway so they could salvage at least part of their evening. Mrs. Hudson had been delighted for the company, and they'd been chatting for a little while now.

“Well, he finally did it,” Molly said with a smile.

“So you two have...?” Mrs. Hudson asked, making a slight motion with her hands.

Molly's eyes went wide as she blushed. “Oh, no, not _that_. I mean, I don't even know when we'll get to that point, if we ever do. But he did admit he loved me.”

“Oh, that's wonderful!” Mrs. Hudson said with a wide smile. “We've known he has for weeks now, if not a little longer than that. It's about time he admitted it to you.”

“Yes, well, it takes time for him to realize these things,” Molly said with a soft laugh. “But I'm glad he did. I mean, I feel the same way towards him. I have for quite a long time.”

“Even before that other young man you were seeing?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she poured milk into her tea. 

She shook her head. “Before Sherlock left? No, that was just infatuation. I think it happened more when he came back. It was a reason I ended my engagement to Tom, because it wasn't fair to Tom to marry him when I didn't completely love him.”

“I think you definitely made the better choice with Sherlock,” the older woman said. “And he seems so different in such a good way. So much happier. Did you know I even caught him singing along with a song? Something rather romantic sounding in English and French, I believe. It sounded French to me, at least.”

“I didn't know he spoke French,” Molly replied, surprised.

“Oh, I think he speaks quite a few languages,” Mrs. Hudson said. “He seems to use them more since he came back. Especially what I think is Russian. I don't have a head for languages except Spanish. I had to know Spanish, when I was younger.” She had some of her tea. “Do you know any interesting languages?”

“Mostly Latin,” she said. “I studied French for a time but I've forgotten most of it.”

“Pity,” Mrs. Hudson said. “It's such a beautiful language.”

“Yes, it is,” Molly agreed with a nod, adding some sugar to her tea. “My mother and father were fluent. They met in a French class at university, actually, and my father learned everything he could to impress her. He thought she was fluent in French when they first met, but it turned out she knew someone who had taken the class the semester before and told her exactly what the professor would be doing since he never changed his syllabus.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “Oh, that's a lovely story. Did they ever get to go to France?”

She nodded, a smile on her face. “They traveled through the country for six months when they got out of university, after they got married. It was an extended honeymoon that my grandmother financed because she had adored France when she lived there as a child. I've never gotten to go, though.” She lifted up her cup and took a sip. “One day, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile as Molly's phone signaled she had a text message, then another, then a third. She set her cup down and pulled out her mobile, looking at it and smile dimming as she read it. Mrs. Hudson reached over and touched her arm. “Molly dear? Is everything all right?”

“It appears Sherlock won't be done until quite late,” Molly said with a sigh. “He apologized but said it was best if I didn't wait around for him, and he'll make it up to me later.”

“Well, just because _he's_ not here doesn't mean you can't stay for a while,” Mrs. Hudson said. “As soon as we finish our tea I'll make us something for supper. It's nice to have some company every once in a while for a meal.”

Molly smiled a bit more. “I think that will be a grand way to spend an evening, Mrs. Hudson,” she said.

“Then it's settled,” Mrs. Hudson said as she nodded. She removed her hand from Molly's arm and then picked up her cup. “Now then. I'm curious as to where else you would want to travel if you could travel the world.”

Molly's smile widened even more as she relaxed and began to answer Mrs. Hudson's query. They kept chatting as they finished their tea and prepared their meal together, pausing in the conversation only long enough to eat. It was seven thirty-six when she left after having a bit of after dinner sherry with Mrs. Hudson, and she felt sated and happy even with the change in plans. She got home and changed out of her clothes into her pyjamas and then settled on her sofa to watch the telly. She must have started dozing because the ringing of her mobile startled her wide awake. She picked it up and saw it was Sherlock. “Hello,” she said when she answered.

“My apologies about tonight,” he said. “Lestrade and I were called to another crime scene where a robbery that was suspected to be connected to our homicide took place. We discovered another body at the scene there. It was quite messy.”

“Ah,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I'm quite glad I have tomorrow off, then. Messy autopsies are the worst.”

“I'd rather have you conduct the autopsy than your relief. He is never quite as thorough,” Sherlock said.

“I will take that as a compliment,” she said with a smile. “What time is it now?”

“Nearly eleven,” he replied. “Ten forty-four, to be precise.”

“I must have dozed off,” she said.

“Then I should let you go back to sleep,” Sherlock said quietly.

“Oh, it's all right,” she said. “I want to talk to you. It was nice chatting with Mrs. Hudson, but I want to have some of your time today too.”

“Then I'll stay on the phone with you until you feel tired again,” he said. “What did you and Mrs. Hudson talk about?”

“All sorts of things. She told me about her past. She's lead quite an interesting life. And we talked about places we'd like to go if we could travel the world. She told me about Florida and it sounds interesting.” Then she remembered what had prompted the conversation. “She told me she heard you singing a song in French. Well, she thought it was French. And there was English, too.”

“I've had one of your songs stuck in my head recently,” he said. “I was trying to perform it on the violin but it didn't sound quite right so I gave up. But the lyrics are catchy and it helps me practice my French.”

“So you do speak French,” she said with a smile. “The only French I really know these days are the French songs I had on my iPod, the ones I had by Jessica Fichot.”

“Which one was your favorite?” he asked.

“'Dreams/Les Yeux ouverts,'” she said. “That's the one you had stuck in your head, right?”

“Yes, that was the one,” he said. “Why do you like it?”

“I like how it's partly in English and French. It makes it easier to sing.”

“You can sing it?” he asked.

“Not very well, but yes,” she replied.

“I'd like to hear it,” he replied. “If you want to sing it, I mean.”

“I could try,” she said. “But it might not sound right because I'm not singing along with her.”

“Still, I'm curious,” he said.

She took a moment to think of the song before she began to sing. “J'rêve les yeux ouverts ça m'fait du bien,”she sang, her voice slightly shaky. “Ça n'va pas plus loin. J'veux pas voir derrière puisque j'en viens. Vive...” She paused for a moment as she tried to remember the lyrics. “Vivement demain!” she finished triumphantly.

“Very impressive,” he said in a warm tone. “Can you translate it?”

“Not anymore,” she admitted. “French is a beautiful language but I have no everyday use for it here in London so I've forgotten most of what I've learned.”

“You were singing about dreams, and dreaming with your eyes open,” he said. “It all sounds better in French, to be honest. What sounds better, 'Mon bonheur te ressemble' or 'My happiness looks like you'?”

“I think the French would sound better if you sing it,” she said, tucking her feet under her.

“You just want to hear me sing for yourself,” he said with a slight chuckle.

“Oh, I've already heard you sing,” she said smugly. “Last week, remember? It wasn't much, but you sang a little bit.”

“I forgot that part. I was more focused on the fact that you told me you loved me that evening.”

She chuckled softly. “Hearing you felt the same way was the highlight of my evening. But you do actually have a very nice voice, Sherlock. I would love to hear you sing more often, to be honest.”

“I don't think my voice is quite suited for this particular song, but I'll try anyway.” He paused for a moment. “Mon bonheur te ressemble,” he began. He had been right; his voice wasn't quite suited for this particular song, being in a lower register, but it was mesmerizing hearing him speak French. “Tous les deux vous allez bien ensemble. J'te l'dirai jamais, jamais assez.”

Before she could help herself she sang the last line along with him. “Dream a little dream of me,” they chorused, and she chuckled softly when they were done. “Oh, I may have to have you speak French to me more often, Sherlock.”

“Is it really that impressive?” he asked.

“Definitely. Much better than Latin.”

“I know Latin, too,” he said.

“Exactly how many languages do you know?” she asked curiously.

“Aside from French and Latin, I'm fluent in eight: Greek, Russian, Latin American Spanish, Castilian Spanish, German, Italian, Mandarin and Cantonese. On top of that I started learning Korean and Japanese recently. Or rather, learning Korean and increasing my fluency in Japanese.”

“You're learning two languages at once?” she asked, surprised. “That's got to be incredibly difficult.”

“I knew basic Japanese already, so that isn't as hard. Korean is difficult, though. But I'll get the hang of it eventually.”

“Soon enough there won't be any languages left for you to learn,” she said.

“There are twenty-three official languages in India, quite a few in the former Soviet Union and many more in Africa,” he said. “I want to know more languages than Mycroft, and so long as he doesn't begin to learn anything more from those places and I do then I'll be better than him.”

“So this is all to show your brother up?” she asked with a soft chuckle.

“Partly. But you never know when knowing a foreign language will come in handy. If I'd known Chinese one of the earlier cases I worked with John may have had a much less dire outcome.” He paused. “What other languages would you like to learn?”

“I'd like to learn Greek and Italian,” she said after a moment's thought. “And maybe a Celtic language, for my own enjoyment. Maybe Welsh or Gaeilge.”

“I could always help if you decide to take up the studies in the first two languages,” he said. “It helps to be able to converse with someone in the language.”

“I may take you up on that,” she said, yawning on the last few words.

“I should let you get some rest,” he said. “I'm sorry we didn't get to spend time together tonight.”

“I'm almost half tempted to suggest you come over and crawl into bed with me,” she said.

There was a pause. “I could, if you really want me to.”

“Oh! I couldn't ask that. I mean, aren't you settled at home?”

“I'm home, but I'm not settled. And I think now would be as good a time as any to see if I can share a bed with someone else. I mean, eventually we'll move closer to a point in our relationship where we'll want to do more than simply sleep next to each other, but if we can't share a bed...”

“Well, then I suppose you can come over, if you really want to,” she said. “I can stay awake long enough for that. And if not, you have your key.”

“Then I'll make my way over as soon as I gather a few things,” he said. “Perhaps forty minutes?”

“All right. I'll stay awake as long as I can,” she said. “I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon, Molly.” He hung up first and she lowered her mobile, grinning slightly. She had sorely missed sharing a bed with someone else, and she wanted very much to share her bed with Sherlock. Hopefully tonight went well and it was the end of her sleeping on her own every night.


End file.
